Today was enlightening in ways I didn’t expect. Most days, I feel like my greatest lesson is that mental fatigue doesn’t actually have the power to kill you. But today, a new truth settled in: my son has Asperger’s Syndrome. We received the diagnosis nearly two years ago, yet I wasn’t quite ready to accept it.
When we first got the news, I dismissed it. After all, I’ve spent a decade providing behavioral therapy for children on the Autism Spectrum. So when I began noticing early signs in my son, Max, I chalked it up to my heightened sensitivity as a professional.
Then, during what I thought was a regular parent-teacher meeting, his preschool teachers delivered a checklist that screamed “Does your child have Autism?” They asserted that Max displayed most of the symptoms. I was infuriated. How could they presume to educate me on Autism? If my son had it, I would certainly know.
In hindsight, I realize they were inexperienced in how to approach the sensitive topic of a child’s differences. Instead of offering concrete examples of Max’s behavior, they opted for a vague checklist, making it easy for me to dismiss their concerns. I knew he didn’t exhibit certain stereotypical behaviors, thus allowing me to negate everything else they said.
After a good cry, I reached out to a trusted friend and colleague, Sarah, who agreed to observe Max in class. Over coffee at our local café, Sarah reassured me that the teachers were indeed lacking in understanding of Max’s unique needs. We agreed that a formal evaluation wouldn’t hurt; after all, if he qualified for services, it could only benefit him.
In January 2013, Max was evaluated by a doctor I knew well. I thought he would easily go along with my requests. At the end of my lengthy description of Max, he asked, “So what do you want, Emily?” I realized then that this wasn’t just about Max needing support; it was my desire to be the proactive parent. I requested an Asperger’s diagnosis and additional services, and that’s exactly what we received.
Max’s Occupational Therapist was a true gem, and he immediately connected with her. She taught him to climb, balance, write, and cut. Suddenly, he was able to play alongside his peers on the playground and even learned to write his name. She helped him broaden his food choices, which felt miraculous. His Therapeutic Support Staff was engaging and fun, encouraging Max to interact with other boys, which was a joy to witness. Despite my reluctance to acknowledge the underlying issues, these professionals became invaluable to our family.
And the results were undeniable! With fewer meltdowns, increased social connections, and a wider array of foods accepted, things improved dramatically. Max thrived to the point where he graduated from several therapies within a year. During his second evaluation, the doctor suggested that if he continued on this path, he might lose his diagnosis soon.
As kindergarten approached, I wrestled with whether to disclose Max’s diagnosis to the school district. After all, the doctor had indicated he might not even have a diagnosis by the time school started. I ultimately decided against sharing it, fearing he’d be unfairly labeled, especially since I believed he would adapt well.
However, it took only two weeks for the kindergarten teacher to reach out. Her email was gentle, but her observations mirrored the generic checklist from preschool. That was my wake-up call. I realized this wasn’t about me manipulating the system; it was about a little boy with Asperger’s who truly needed support to navigate his school environment.
I promptly replied, admitting that I had grossly underestimated Max’s challenges in a mainstream classroom. I had convinced myself that, despite his unique traits, he’d manage fine on his own—after all, he is brilliant! Now, we’re preparing to meet with the school psychologist to determine if Max requires Special Education services for attention, direction-following, and appropriate behavior. I expect to apologize for withholding critical information, a consequence of my denial and fear of how a label might affect him.
Yet, the person I owe the most apologies to is Max. By refusing to confront the reality of his diagnosis, I inadvertently placed shame around it. What I’ve come to understand is that he is, without a doubt, the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known.
He is my heart, my everything. When I gaze into his eyes, I see a connection that transcends this life. This diagnosis does not define him, but it will always be part of who he is. Max reads at an astonishing level, remembers everything, has a passion for the solar system, and struggles with certain routines. Yes, he experiences daily meltdowns and is not the most athletic child, yet he possesses an empathy that is unmatched.
Reflecting on these traits, I realize I should have recognized the signs earlier, but we often do strange things when we think we’re protecting our children. Today, I finally embraced a truth I had resisted for too long. It took countless educators, therapists, and emotional moments for me to see that while my son is not “normal”, he is perfectly himself.
The takeaway? This journey is daunting and real, and ignoring it won’t change a thing. What truly helps is the love of our family and the unwavering belief that Max is destined for greatness, despite my missteps along the way. I will now embrace his Asperger’s diagnosis with pride, understanding that it doesn’t define him. He is an irreplaceable, unique individual, and I am endlessly grateful to be his mom.
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In summary, embracing the reality of autism for my son has been a journey filled with challenges and profound love. Acceptance doesn’t diminish his brilliance; it enhances our understanding of who he is.
Keyphrase: Accepting Autism
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